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Just before the holidays, I encountered an extraordinary incident. I feel it proved instructive. This happened at a gathering of several mates, who are incidentally dentists, but this isn't pertinent. The present crowd were exclusively male, which turns out to be relevant.

A Novel Situation

The establishment was a tavern doing a brisk business. A wasted session was shared by the group. Good cuisine, good beverages and surprisingly humorous stories about dentistry. Inevitably, the moment arrived for trips to the male facilities. Those who departed, I half-noticed, looked to be gone a considerable while. I didn't contemplate why this was, but when it became my go, all became clear.

Upon turning the bend, and what awaited me but a lengthy line for the gentlemen’s toilet. No queue at all for the ladies' room, but a considerable queue for the men's. What fresh hell was this? This was an unfamiliar scene any of us in this line knew.

A Taste of Common Reality

For the avoidance of doubt, I am not asking for empathy from any female reader here. I am fully conscious that, for females, being forced to wait to use a convenience is standard practice. How many times have I witnessed women standing in a queue while men in the comparable place have to do nothing of the sort?

Apart from the inconvenience of having to queue to use a toilet, there’s a hint of humiliation about waiting there, waiting for something that men typically don’t have to experience. It was decidedly sobering to experience a dose of it myself, seeing the other sex breeze through the portal while I was forced to line up dutifully with others with my companions, looking distractedly at whatever we had in our pockets and scrolling through our mobile devices.

The Art of Toilet Queue Conversation

There’s a entire style of dialogue here – restroom waiting talk – of which men have little familiarity. Females, I imagine, have developed skills to be fairly skilled at it, sharing pleasantries and an notable insight or two.

About this topic I’ve asked some women of my circle. The general agreement is that intra-queue interaction is confined to the odd eye roll and the phrase: “Forget this, I’m going to use the male.” A associate mentioned it’s merely at the sinks later that chat tends to begin.

Had I been a female, I’d not spend a moment on either pleasantries or quiet. If I was compelled, time and again, to wait in a common queue simply for the opportunity to empty my bladder, I’d vent my spleen like there was no tomorrow at the pure inequity of it. A useful measure for any civilised culture would be gender parity in toilet lining-up periods. I’m looking for research on this.

Male Banter in the Queue

Returning to my wait, I attempted to initiate some brotherly banter going about this unprecedented state of affairs of ours. I sighed a bit, rolled my eyes and said something to the effect of: “Well, this is an irksome change, right chaps?”

One person grinned, a second appeared confused, a third seemed awkward. Yet another shook his head as if this was one more example of modern woes, cultural decline etc. Aside from that, silence reigned. An individual emerged, adjusting his clothing. The group moved forward a spot. A couple more men took a place at the end of it. I let out a breath.

An Unspoken Moment

A woman wafted out of the adjacent restroom, all fragrant and at ease. It was perfectly okay for some. I grinned bashfully at her, trying to communicate acknowledgement of this reversed scenario. Her response was: “Don't turn to me for solidarity, you bastard. Reappear when you’ve done this on a regular basis and only then I could give you the courtesy.”

In reality, she never spoke that. She said anything. But I know that’s what she was thinking. And I really could not fault her.